Having Faith
by Princess Tyler Briefs
Summary: When given a second chance to change one of the worst events of his life, John is determined to take it. He just didn't anticipate how trying to fix his mistakes could make it even worse. JohnxOC, some other minor pairings possible.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Many of you may choose not to read this because it is full of OCs, and that is your prerogative. However, I pity you as these characters I promise are interesting and multi-dimensional. I have not spent as much time as I have fleshing them out to have them be simple Mary Sues. Even though, yes, I am pairing one with John. I promise if you try this with an open mind, you will find at least something you like.

On the flip side, do let me know if I'm giving you too much detail or back story. I have such a stack that I'm afraid I might over do it. But I will strive my best to learn some balance.

For those, very few of you, that have read 'Half of Chance' you'll find there are some changes here—namely the way Linny and Lucy died. I wanted something more dramatic, so this is what you get.

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters you recognize, and none of this universe, are my property. They belong solely to Gerry Anderson and his estate. I am making no money from this, and it is purely for entertainment purposes.

**Summary:** When given a second chance to change one of the worst events of his life, John is determined to take it. He just didn't anticipate how trying to fix his mistakes could make it even worse. JohnxOC, some other minor pairings possible.

_**Having Faith**_

_**By: Reggie**_

_Chapter 1_

_August 24__th__, 2066_

_Tuesday, 7:00 AM, Tracy Island Time_

Most people enjoyed the feeling of awakening slowly to the sun on their face, wind blowing from the open window and carrying with it the smell of the sea and songs of birds that called the rocky shores of this small bit of paradise their home.

Those people were not John Glenn Tracy.

John blinked his grey-blue eyes slowly, rubbing his face into his pillow with a groan. The early morning sun was streaming in the open door from his balcony, bathing the spartan room with a mix of golden light and deep shadows. His telescope was the worst for this, reflecting small discs of light around the room, creating an almost magical look. For a fleeting moment, he was half tempted to knock it over just to spoil the effect.

All that birds and sea breezes and sunshine reminded him of was the fact that he was back on terra firma when what he desperately needed right now was to be back on Five. Why his father had picked this week, out of all weeks, to put Brains up on his bird for some system upgrades and insist that John come home for a while was a mystery to John.

Well, no, that wasn't entirely accurate. He knew that his father was fully aware of what week it was, and he'd wanted to have John close. He knew, logically, that the only intention was to help. After all, the anniversary of their mother's death was always hard, and it stood to reason that the second anniversary of the deaths of John's wife and daughter would be difficult for him. But that was why he needed so badly to be on Thunderbird 5. He had to be busy or he was going to think too much. He didn't want to think, at all.

Glancing up, John made a face at his reflection. His mussed hair, pale face, and dull looking eyes gave the appearance of a man who would sooner break your nose than deal with a smile. Accurate, perhaps, but not good for convincing his brothers he was alright. If he didn't want to be followed the whole time he was down here, he need to step it up.

He dressed quickly, exchanging his dark blue pajamas for a white polo and jeans. A quick wash of his face added a little color, and a wet comb took the edge off the wild look. All that remained was to see if he could convince himself that he had the strength to get through the day. Sometimes his ritual for this worked, and sometimes it didn't, but it was the only thing he felt worth trying at the moment.

The small wooden box sat on his dresser, perhaps the only organic looking object in the room. It was dark wood and plain, with no markings identifying the contents, which is exactly what John wanted. Nobody had to know it was special—a childhood jewelry box of Linny's that her mother had given to him at his wife's funeral. The box went everywhere with him, having traveled to space more times than many of the astronauts John had trained with.

His hands didn't shake anymore like they used to as he lifted the lid, and the first few haunting notes of Linny's favorite song managed to make themselves heard from the well worn gears. How they did this every time, John didn't know. He never wound it up, as he'd never liked i_Danny Boy_/i and even less so now.

Gently, as he did every morning, he pulled out the first of the two objects he always kept in the box. A Celtic cross on a thin chain, still silver on most of it but with large tarnished spots across it that partly hid the Celtic knots detailed there, and a faded emerald at its center. Just like every morning, John clasped the chain around his neck, sliding the cross under his shirt so it was mostly hidden.

Then he removed the second item from its place in the box. A picture of a mother and toddler in autumn leaves. The woman had a laughing face, with sparkling green eyes that shone out from a multitude of freckles and curled red hair. She had on a light grey jacket and green shirt, her faded blue jeans covered in dirt and grass stains. In her arms was a girl that was no doubt her daughter. A tiny round face with strawberry blonde hair, a few curled strands escaping from the two high pigtails to land in her face just like John's always did. In one tiny pudgy hand she had a bright orange leaf that she was holding out to the camera, raising a small pink jacket up over her rounded baby belly. Both girls were grinning at the camera, autumn leaves sticking to their clothing and pieces in their hair.

It was the last picture John had of his girls. He'd taken it exactly two years ago yesterday, eight days before the two of them were killed.

"Hi there, Lin." He tried not to do this when he was on earth. He tried to only put on the cross that had once belonged to the love of his life, stare at his picture for a moment, and the close the lid. But he couldn't this time. Not today. "Did you miss me?"

Two of his fingers lovingly traced the woman's face and shoulder line, trying to keep those features he knew so well fresh in his mind. To replace the photo with real flesh, soft to the touch, warm, and always smelling of fresh air and honey.

He wished he could remember her voice. Every once in a while he thought he'd grasped the fragments back—her bright laughter and soothing Irish lilt—but the moments he needed it most they always vanished.

Even if he could not recall the voice they belonged to, Linny's last words to him always came to mind when he held this picture. The still angry look in her green eyes, and the flash of a red ponytail as she vanished forever. "I love you, John Tracy, but sometimes I wish you were less of an ass."

If only he'd known it would be the last time he would see her. To hold her one more time, kiss her, take that last chance to apologize instead of holding onto his wounded pride. To say he loved her, with all his soul, just one more time and know that she had heard him.

His fingers brushed so lightly, desperate not to leave smudges but aching to touch. "I am trying to make you proud of me. To be the man you always wished I was. What would you say if you could see me now?"

A sudden knock at the door jerked him from his reverie. Reality crashed back in as he carefully returned the picture, shutting the box to his heart with the smallest of snaps. "Come in."

Blond hair emerged from around the door, followed by Alan's obviously nervous brown eyes. He must have drawn the short straw this morning. "Grandma said to tell you breakfast is ready."

John couldn't keep an almost smile off his face. No way he'd be getting away with light meals this week. "Alright, Alan, tell her I'll be right there."

Alan shifted for several moments, seeming like he wanted to say more. In the end, he only nodded and disappeared down the hallway. John shook his head, feeling a little more relaxed now that the familiar weight of Linny's cross had returned to his neck. She had always worn it, and now John couldn't stand to be parted from it. Of course, to John's knowledge, she hadn't yet to forgive him for marrying a catholic. Or for never getting to meet her great-grandchild.

That was one of the hardest parts. The only one that had ever met his wife was his father, and then only briefly.

How could he have been so stupid? He'd been only eighteen, and so convinced he was right. So sure that he was justified in the hatred and anger toward his father for spending so much time at the office. For choosing to go to meetings instead of football games or piano recitals. For not being home to greet them, or help with homework, or taking phone calls in the middle of important conversations. And he hadn't been quite wrong, he knew that still, but he'd gone about in the worst possible way.

He shouldn't have gotten as upset as he did about his father saying he'd be late for his graduation. He shouldn't have said Jeff didn't love them, and shouldn't have pushed every button he knew how to rile his father up. And he knew every button, too, because he'd let that resentment and hate go for so long and spent so much of his high school career trying to get his dad's attention by doing all the wrong things and getting into trouble.

He should not have believed every word his Dad said about how he was ashamed to have him as his son, and didn't deserve to be a Tracy. Shouldn't have believed it when his father told him that if John left that night he couldn't come back. Most of all, he should not have gotten into his truck and gone with nothing but the clothes on his back and telescope in the bed of it.

Even though it did get him to Florida, where he met Linny, working beside her at NASA to achieve their dreams. He wouldn't change it, really, but he wished he'd talked to his brothers. For seven years, through heart ache and growing up, and tears, and weddings and funerals and births, all he'd ever done was text Virgil and Gordon on birthdays and once every six months to say he was alive.

That had been truly stupid, and he'd known that even then, but until that moment…until he was suddenly facing a life alone and had nowhere to turn, did he realize just how completely he'd burned that bridge, and how far from grace he'd fallen.

None of his brothers had ever met Linny, or their daughter, and it was his fault more than anything else ever was.

He could hear the TV from halfway down the hall, and he wasn't surprised to see Scott and Gordon sitting on the couch already wide awake and showered. Virgil being at the table was a bit of a surprise, but they probably already had their orders from Father. Stay with John, keep him distracted, and keep him happy. For what they could do, John appreciated it.

Pulling out his usual seat, John dropped into it with a sigh. He wanted a drink, something stronger than what they usually kept on the Island, but he couldn't possibly ask for that. Instead, he grabbed the pot of coffee and poured himself some strong and black.

"Good morning, Johnny." His grandmother sounded as chipper as it was possible for anyone to be this early in the morning, and a plate full of pancakes and eggs materialized in front of him. "Hope you're hungry."

No, he wasn't really. He picked up his fork anyway. "Thanks, Grandma."

"Did you sleep well?"

He hadn't slept well since Linny died. He had called her his dream catcher because she kept the nightmares away, and without her he couldn't make it through the night. More often than not, he just didn't bother with it all. He'd finally crashed last night after being awake for two days straight. "I slept fine, thank you."

John took a sip of his coffee, smiling a little to himself as the hot liquid hit his tongue. Linny used to tease him about how he'd switched to strong black coffee after he started going out with her. She claimed that since she'd taught him to shoot whiskey he had no taste buds left from trying to impress her with how much of the stuff he could consume.

This was, in a way, slightly accurate. He had preferred a mix of cream in his coffee before he regularly had to get to school after a Sunday night filled with laughter, drinks, and his favorite girl.

Glancing up, he saw the tear stained face of some woman as she was being pushed into a police car, and he made a face. He'd never enjoyed the news, and even less so now.

Gordon must have shared his sentiments as he peeked over the back of the couch toward the breakfast table. "Why do you insist on watching this stuff? It's depressing."

Virgil took a long drink of his coffee before answering. He must have been the one Gordon was talking to as he had the remote beside him on the table. "It's important to know what's going on in the world, even when we aren't really part of it."

"Yeah, a heads up about some of the stuff we'll be getting into is good, isn't it?" Scott grinned over at Gordon, and got a pillow shoved in his face for his efforts. Probably because Gordon hadn't been on a rescue for a good long while, so the we was a bit of a stretch. John took a nibble of his eggs as Virgil turned up the volume to hear his news program over the scuffle on the couch.

"Back to you, Dan," the reporter said, just as the screen switched back to a man with a horrible tan sitting at a desk.

"Thanks, Rick. In our last story of the hour, NASA has announced plans to commemorate the second anniversary of the attack that happened there."

_Fire. Everywhere. It was in his lungs, burning them, but he didn't care as he plunged head long into the building. He had to find them. They couldn't be dead, couldn't._

Scott and Gordon had stopped their wrestling, both frozen in surprise. Virgil had frozen too, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth.

"Next Tuesday will be the second anniversary of when disgruntled former employee, Gregory Kouitsz, ignited several of the buildings at the NASA complex, killing over a dozen employees."

_"What do you want me to do, Linny? Call and tell them I can't come in because my two-year-old daughter has a doctor's appointment? They are finally going to let me go on a mission—really be an astronaut. I can't blow it now."_

"_It's just one day."_

"_An entire day of conditioning and training. I might only have one shot. Can't you back me up on this, just once?"_

"_You know, fer someone who hates his father so much fer puttin' work above family, yer sure doin' an excellent job of bein' just like him."_

The TV showed a burning building, fire fighters running around like dark shadows in front of the inferno. John knew that if the camera turned just a little left it would show two of them dragging him out, barely conscious and fighting to get back so he could find them.

"It was the first attack of its kind in almost a quarter of a century, since improvements in technology had made such things nearly impossible."

_Text message: 'Forgot my purse at the office. Stopping in.' Thinking about going to meet them, running across the complex to the physics department, to apologize, to promise he'd try harder. Thirty-seconds. Boom._

"Families of the victims have been invited to a memorial service next Tuesday on NASA grounds. Guests are expected to include many important officials and celebrities, including billionare Jefferson Tracy, who's two-year-old—"

_Maybe they weren't in here. It had only been thirty seconds. But her cross in the rubble…she never ever took it off. They had to be here, he had to find them, had to save them, couldn't lose anyone else, couldn't lose them, couldn't breathe…_

"Virgil!"

His younger brother must have unfrozen milliseconds before, as the TV clicked off at the same moment as Scott's cry. Then a silence so heavy John thought he would choke on it. He knew they were all looking at him. Could feel their eyes burning his skin, waiting for him to react, but John felt like he'd been kicked in the gut.

How did he react? He knew this was coming. Knew what day it was, would be, and so did everyone else in the room. He hadn't needed or wanted it thrown in his face like this, and he couldn't think or breathe and he wanted to run but where could he go? Trapped on an island that his brother's knew better than he did, they would follow and want to talk. Everyone always wanted to talk, except him. Talking ripped him open, exposing his heart and its frailties, and left it to be stabbed through by fate again and again.

Talking was how he'd gotten close to Linny, fallen in bed with her, fallen in love with her, and now there just wasn't anything left to talk about.

"John, I…"Virgil looked apologetic, and John wanted to be mad at him but found he couldn't. It wasn't Virgil's fault that had come on as soon as he'd gotten up. It was just his destiny to hurt this bad.

"Don't worry about it, Virg." He surprised himself with how steady his voice sounded, lifting his mug to his mouth but not really taking a drink. Like he didn't care when it felt more like another shred of his soul had been torn away.

Virgil faltered a moment, sharing a look with their oldest brother John couldn't read. They always did that now; he could only assume they had gotten close when he was away living and losing his perfect life. "Johnny, look, if you…"

"I said don't worry about it." This time he wasn't so calm. There was a steel and anger in it that he couldn't quite actually feel but must have been there.

Scott opened his mouth, because of course his big brother couldn't just let it drop, but mercy decided to smile on John for once as their father came in.

"Suit up, boys, we've got a fire in Japan and they need our help."

"What kind of fire?" Scott asked, already on his feet while Virgil downed the rest of his coffee in one swallow.

"A high rise. Something in the middle caught—they aren't sure what yet—but several people are stranded at the top where fire trucks can't reach, and the fire men don't have a way to get through. Vigil, grab the Firefly and—"

"I'm going to." Everyone turned to stare at him, but John didn't look up from the black contents of his cup. None of them had ever dared interrupt their father like that, and in truth John had no idea what made him speak up like that. Now that he'd said it, however, he found that no would not be an acceptable option. He needed to be anywhere but the island. Needed to be doing something that wasn't sitting, hurting, and remembering. Even if it was a fire, it wasn't the same fire, and this time…this time…

The official reason to his brothers that he wasn't allowed on many rescues was because he didn't have the experience and training they did. To an extent, this was true—he had no military training and had been the last of them to join International Rescue only a couple of weeks before launch. But John suspected that it was more because his father guessed how he felt. Knew that every single person they tried to save became his mother, Linny, Lucy to John, and he would stop at nothing to get it right this time. To save them, even if it cost him his life in the process.

Jeff's mouth was a thin line, and John braced himself for a fight. Their relationship, while better than almost ever before, was still shaky at best. He didn't want to fight, but he couldn't stay this time.

However, they must have been taking too long as John suddenly found himself lifted to his feet by Scott pulling on his arm. "Well fly ahead in Thunderbird 1. Virgil, follow as quick as you can."

"F.A.B., Scott."

Gordon looked like he wanted to protest, but Scott was already dragging John down the hall. Neither he nor Scott said anything as they made their way down to Thunderbird 1's hanger. For whatever reason, Scott had decided to give John his chance, and he wasn't going to blow it. This time, he was going to make a difference.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This chapter is better if read while listening to Nickleback's "I'd Come For You". Just saying.

I'm glad that those of you that read my first chapter enjoyed it. There was a lot of love and effort in there that I hope carries over to everything I write later. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask them. I'd like to know if I'm missing some key details for you to get the whole picture of the characters/circumstances.

Yes, I could have written John's Japanese dialogue in Japanese (my sister's major, she could have translated it for me). No, I won't do that, as it is a pain for everyone. Use your imaginations.

I…hate this chapter. Just saying. I was trying to kind of hurry through it, and as such it is full of holes and weak. Ugh. We're moving on swiftly.

_**Having Faith**_

_Chapter 2_

_August 24__th__, 2066  
Tuesday, 7:30 AM Tracy Island Time_

It wasn't easy watching something fade from sight on Thunderbird One. Scott simply didn't have to worry about going backwards all that often—John wasn't entirely sure his older brother could in this thing, even if he wanted to—so thought of a rear facing anything wasn't exactly in the design plans. Still, by undoing his safety restraint and turning around, John could watch the last of the palm trees fade over the horizon as they flew over the ocean at an astonishing speed.

It wasn't until that last splash of green had faded from sight that John felt he could breathe again. It was always like that. He was never comfortable on that island, despite the fact that he was the one Tracy brother who actually liked to be away from other people. His father had purchased the island after their mother's death as a refuge; a place she had never been and her ghost could not be.

While he understood only too well that desire now, growing up he had hated it. He thought Jeff had been trying to forget her, and the island was someplace he could ship the boys off to and ignore them. The three summers he had spent there before International Rescue had been miserable angry ones, and it never felt like home.

Maybe it was because he spent so little time there, even now, but he still felt as though he were in intruder in someone else's house. He hoped that would change someday, but for now it was what it was, and he was much happier every time that little spec of land faded from sight.

John was turned back around and had his restraint on again before Scott spoke. He was honestly surprised he'd waited that long.

"You're nowhere near off the hook, you know."

Had it not been a ridiculously childish thing for a twenty-six-year-old man to do, John would have sulked. Instead, he went with his usual Scott defense tactic. "What hook?"

This went about as well as it usually did, with Scott glancing over at him with one eyebrow raised. "I know you don't want to talk about it; no one every does with this sort of thing. But you know you need to. You can't hold on to the hurt like that, it will destroy you. And I, for one, like you at least mostly intact even if you don't."

"I'm doing alright." And really, he was. Sure, not a day went by where he didn't miss his girls, and every so often he'd think about how much Scott would have liked his baby niece, but most days it was just a dull ache. Something he could deal with, acknowledge, and then push aside. If he wasn't doing great this week that was something his family was just going to have to understand.

"You're also being deliberately frustrating."

This was probably accurate, though the blond hated to admit it. At this point, it was almost habit. His high school years had been mostly spent causing as much trouble as he could manage just to annoy his father. The unintended consequence was he'd butted heads with Scott quite often.

John had never intended for this wedge that had come between them to get there. Growing up he had held Scott's opinion in the highest regard. In truth, the main reason he hadn't even tried coming home for so long was because he didn't think he could stand to see the disappointment on Scott's face. It killed him a little inside to know he'd let his big brother down, and like the coward he was he had chosen to remain hidden instead of come out and face it.

He owed it to Scott to at least attempt to be cooperative, though. Not just for letting him go on the rescue, or for the hell he'd put his big brother through growing up, but for being there when John had needed him most.

The night of his girls' funeral, John had called Gordon and given him the brief version of what happened. He hadn't known what else to do. Until then he'd been in shock, but after watching Linny's family drive away and leave him alone in the house that suddenly seemed so empty he just couldn't stand to be alone anymore.

At that point in time, Gordon was the only one talking to him, as even Virgil had had enough of his foolishness. Naturally, John had expected his laughing eyed, ginger haired brother that Linny had been so much like, to be the only one willing to come to Florida and drink with him until it didn't hurt anymore.

Gordon, perceptive as he always was when it was really important, had instead sent the person John needed most right then. He had wanted a drinking buddy. Instead he got an older brother who wasn't going anywhere without him.

There had been no condemnation or disappointment in Scott's eyes, and there wasn't now. Only the same compassion and understanding as there had been that night when he'd found John already drunk and shattered, and taken him home.

He needed to at least attempt to be civil, to repay Scott for all of that. "After the rescue, okay, Fearless?"

John watched his older brother try, and fail, to stop a grin from spreading across his face at the nickname. It was one Gordon had given him when they were children, spending carefree summers that had seemed endless then on their grandparent's farm. For a while Scott's code name had been Fearless Leader, but when that proved too long for Alan to remember Gordon had shortened it to only the first word.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I'm counting on it."

At that point the silence became more companionable, and they didn't speak at all for the few minutes that it took for them to get to Japan.

It was never good, John decided, when you can see the smoke from a rescue long before you reach the actual disaster zone. Judging from the way that Scott's hands tightened on the controls of his bird, his older brother didn't think so either.

Where exactly in Japan they were, John couldn't say for sure, as he'd been changing into his uniform when Brains had given Scott his directions and cities had long ago become mostly irrelevant to the astronaut who was used to looking at land masses as wholes. What he did know was that seeing the column of smoke curling around some very tall buildings and heading skyward made his stomach lurch. A fire that big wasn't a good thing.

Scott circled around several of the buildings, dodging through a few until the high rise was in view. It was one of the tallest buildings John had ever seen, all metal and glass, but the only thing he could think once it came in to view was _'that is coming down soon.'_

"Damn." Scott's face looked grim, and he punched several buttons to get his Thunderbird to hover where it was. "Why'd they wait so long to call us?" He flipped a switch. "Virgil, what's your e.t.a?"

"I'm about ten minutes behind you."

"Is that the best you can do?"

A snort from the other end of the radio, "when have I given you any less?" A pause, followed by Virgil's voice sounding more concerned, "what's wrong?"

Scott flipped the switch again, obviously not wanting to give Virgil an answer for reasons that were entirely his own. "This building probably won't stay up another ten minutes. We don't have time for him to get here, never mind get set up." Scott's frown deepened and his eyes darkened before he unclipped his safety harness and jumped to his feet. "Take the controls, John."

"Me?" He knew the theory of flying Thunderbird One, knew it for all the birds, but theory and actual flight were quite different. "Want to clue me in on what the plan is here?"

"Simple." His older brother didn't pause in his task of pulling the flame retardant suit he had with him on over his uniform. "You're going to fly close enough that I can jump on to the roof, and I'm going to set up a safety line to one of the neighboring buildings. While I'm doing that, you land and get the location of the people trapped up here from the Firefighter's main control and radio it to me. Don't take any longer than a couple of minutes, though, or we're all dead."

"This is your worst plan ever, including the one where we tried to run away on our bikes." A sound plan in theory, until it was taken in to account that they wanted to run away to New York from Kansas. "You aren't seriously planning on jumping out of this thing and on to a burning building, are you?"

"Air Force, Johnny. I've jumped out of planes a hundred times."

"This isn't a plane; it's a Thunderbird that you're asking me to fly. We didn't exactly build in a hatch for this." An over sight they were going to have to fix, come to think of it. An alternate door for exits simply would not be a bad thing.

To John's surprise, Scott pulled a pair of goggles from somewhere and snapped them on to his forehead. He winced, to surprised to make a noise at the stinging sensation that caused.

"You're a great pilot, John. I have faith in you. Just get me close enough and trust me."

"If you think I'm going to FAB that, you're crazy." As unhappy as he was with this idea, though, John knew that every moment he spent arguing with Scott was another moment they lost from trying to rescue people. He didn't like it, but he also had no choice. John dropped into the pilot seat, immediately reengaging the engines to his command. Thunderbird One was much more sensitive to his commands than Three was, and within seconds they'd almost crashed sideways into another high rise before John got them facing the right direction.

Scott leaned over John's shoulder, a comforting hand placed there as he watched the building come into view of the front windshield. "That's it, Johnny, hold her nice and steady. Perfect."

"Try not to die, alright?" John watched, a little disturbed but not surprised, as Scott flipped open the side of the windshield closest to the building and climbed out. His older brother gave him a grin that was a little too close to the one Gordon always got on his face before he did something incredibly stupid, gave John a one handed salute, and then simply dropped from view.

It took a couple of seconds for John to get his heart started again, but he didn't dare look to see if Scott had made it safely to his target. Instead he started scanning for some place to land Thunderbird One and flipped the switch to let Virgil talk that had been beeping at him the whole time. "Come in Thunderbird Two."

"John? Where's Scott, what's going on? Why is he always a jerk when he's around you?"

"What can I say, I'm contagious." The helicopter pad a couple of buildings over looked perfect, and while normally he'd send a transmission for permission, there wasn't time. "Scott's already inside trying to locate people. I need to get to the firefighters to coordinate. Things here aren't looking great, Virgil, and the sooner you can get here the better."

"I'm doing my best, Johnny." Virgil sounded tense, and John could almost hear the engines of Thunderbird Two straining through the com as he landed.

"I know. We'll see you in a couple of minutes, alright?" He clicked off the com unit as well, pausing only long enough on his way out to grab a mask from the rack and drop the goggles on Scott's seat. There was no special suit in for him, but that was fine.

Once he was sure the Thunderbird was secure, John dashed out the exit, dropping to the pad and making a dash for the only door in sight. Fortunately for him, the helicopter pad was a lower tier of the building, putting only around twelve flights of stairs between him and the ground. Another surprisingly easy dash across the road that wasn't as full of spectators as he had been expecting. Finding the ring of local rescue officers by the trucks was easy, and John raced to join them.

This is where being who he was came in handy. True, most people in the world spoke English and Scott had never had a problem, but being able to communicate with these men in their native language would make things infinitely easier. And, it just so happened, that Japanese was one of those languages John had learned from a native speaker and spoke very well.

He bowed low as the men all glanced his direction, obviously surprised to see him. "Pardon me for interrupting. I'm from International Rescue. We already have one of our men in the building, but I will need exact locations of the people that need rescuing."

"We thank you for your prompt response," the one who looked like a fire chief said, returning John's bow with a look of confusion on his face. "However, we did not call you. All those inside managed to get out safely. We could use help with putting out the fire, though."

"You…you didn't call?" Now John was completely stumped. Someone had to have called; International Rescue didn't just run around willy-nilly and the information Brains had given them made it sound specifically like those in charge had asked for them. Somebody, somewhere, was being severely misled. "And you say no one is up there?"

"Not that we are aware of."

John flipped on his watch. "Scott, this is John. There's no one up there, so get yourself out."

Nothing. Not even static. Frowning, John adjusted some of the dials, and gave his wrist a good shake just to be safe. "Scott? Come in, Scott, can you hear me?"

When once again there was no response, John cursed under his breath, put on his mask, and broke out at a dead run toward the building. The shouts after him were ignored, and he stepped into the smoke filled corridor with ease. If the people had gotten down, there had to be a way up. He flipped his communicator on again. "Virgil? Brains? Anybody getting any of this?"

No, it was completely dead, and he didn't have the information or the time to find out why or fix it. Scott had said he might only have minutes. Glancing around the tiled entrance way, John located the stair well and started towards it. Five floors flew by easily as he raced, heart pounding. Ten floors. Fifteen. The heat increased with each step he climbed, taking him to the inferno that was the middle floors of the building. Where was Scott? He had to find him? Had to warn him that there wasn't anyone there. Let him know that this might even be a set…

John's foot slipped, sending him crashing face first onto the stairs before he rolled down the seven stairs he'd managed to climb, crashing onto the landing for the twenty-seventh floor in a disorienting thud. Groaning, John opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ceiling. Perfect. Nobody was going to allow him on another rescue ever again. He sat up as quickly as vertigo would let him, and glanced toward the door to that floor. It was open, although John was certain he hadn't been that way just moments ago when he'd rushed past. It wasn't possible for Scott to be that far down already, was it? Well, he'd gone up and down several flights of stairs himself, and Scott was in far better shape, so he it was plausible. Glancing down the spiraling stair case, John saw no one, and he instead turned to push open the door further. "Scott?"

No sign of anything but smoke in the hallway, and John started to turn away when a shadow caught his attention. Just in the corner of his vision, something was moving further down the corridor, and it was either Scott or someone that needed his help. It vanished as soon as he turned to look at it fully, but John was certain it had been there. He started to run again, racing toward it at full speed. "Hey, wait, come back. Scott?"

Just as John reached the spot where the shadow had been, he caught a second glimpse of it, just further down the hall. There was still no response when he called out to it, although it was possible his voice was being muffled by his mask and couldn't be heard over the flames roaring above their heads. At least, that's what he told himself. Coughing as he ran the few more feet, he nearly tripped over the little boy lying face down on the floor. He was clearly unconscious, his black hair coated in ash.

Bending down, John could see he was a little thing, probably no older than six or seven, and he appeared to be unconscious but was still breathing. More than likely, the poor thing had panicked and hyperventilated himself into this state. It was odd that no one had reported the child missing to the fire fighters, but then perhaps he'd been alone while his parents were at work and no one even knew. The boy couldn't have been the shadow, but for now whoever that was just had to wait. John only had two arms, and unlike his more athletic brothers he couldn't carry more than one person at a time.

Scooping the kid up gently, John stood and turned back toward the stairs. Only to find himself face to face with a woman. Her long black hair was somehow floating around her head, her face painted in the traditional white style of a geisha, her long white and red kimono also floating in a peculiar manner around her body. Eyes so dark they were almost black seemed to be staring right through John, who'd almost dropped the child in surprise.

"If one sows goodness, one will reap the same." She said slowly, those eerie eyes blinking with an equal lack of haste.

"What?"

"For services performed, there must be rewards. Lives saved can be returned in kind."

She was making no sense at all. Maybe she was delusional from lack of oxygen. Or, maybe, just a crazy person that lived here. Either way, she needed to get out just as much as he, the kid, and Scott did. John reached for her hand, or where he thought it was under the long sleeves of her kimono. "We need to leave. Come on, I'll show you the way out."

The moment his fingers brushed the fabric, there was a flash of light so bright he had to duck his head as sparks rained down on them from the ceiling. When blue eyes blinked again, the woman had simply vanished. John could only stare at where she had been, mouth hanging open slightly. Who was that woman, and where on earth had she gone? "Now I'm the one that's going crazy…"

"J…John? John, can you hear me?"

Surprised once again, John glanced down at his wrist to find his communicator was back online. "Scott, is that you?"

"When I get my hands on you, you are in so much trouble." And from the tone in his older brother's voice, Scott meant it. "The firemen managed to get a hold of Thunderbird Five to tell them they didn't call, and they told Thunderbird Two who THEN called me. Why didn't you just radio me, John?"

"I tried, but it didn't," John was cut off as he started to cough. Smoke was coming in pretty thick through the hallway now, and he couldn't see more than a couple of inches in front of him. Besides, what could he say? He didn't really have an explanation to give other than, for whatever reason, his wrist radio hadn't been working at all until that flash of light. "I've got a kid here, Scott, and he's in rough shape. I'm heading out now."

"What floor are you on?"

"Twenty-seven. I'm heading for the south stairwell."

"FAB. I'm on the thirtieth. I'll head your way. Virgil will be here in a few moments, but you better hurry up."

John didn't dignify that with a response. He was already moving, unsurprised when more sparks fell around his head, as well as a couple of pieces of ceiling. It felt like the building was starting to sway, and it wouldn't be long before some of it…

He barely had time to step back as, with a groan, a large pile of ceiling and flame fell down where he had been standing moments before. What was this building made of? It certainly wasn't up to current fire code, of that John was certain.

Now what was he going to do? That crash had filled the hallway with flaming debris, and the ceiling over his head was now creaking ominously. In moments it was going to collapse as well, and then what?

The child in his arms coughed weakly, and John did the only thing he could think of by taking off his own mask and tightening it around the boy's mouth. This little guy had to belong to someone, and John wasn't about to let them down by letting the child die of smoke inhalation. It wouldn't help much, but it had to be better than nothing, which was all John could offer him at the moment. Why did he always fail in fires?

"John!"

With the call of his name, he glanced up through the distortion caused by the heat now searing his skin to see Scott standing on the other side of the fire, his wide blue eyes behind the helmet no doubt noting John's lack of any kind of protective gear. His older brother stepped as close to the flames as the suit would allow—it wasn't fire proof and wouldn't do him any good if he tried to walk right through the flames. "Can you jump it?"

John shook his head, the coughing much worse now without any kind of filter between him at the smoke. His voice was little more than a croak as he tried to yell out. "I don't want to…try it…with the kid…"

"Come on over to the wall. It's thinner down this way."

The ceiling over head gave a large crack, and John scurried to do as instructed. Scott met him there, reaching out his arms for the boy. Holding him as high above the flames as he could manage, praying that any burns the child did receive wouldn't be too bad, they managed to work him across to Scott's waiting arms.

"Alright, John, you're turn. You can make this jump."

Another nod, though it was getting difficult to focus. John took a couple of steps back, wanting a small running start, when it happened. The ceiling gave one final loud snap, and another rain of sparks fell on his head as the only warning. There was no time to move, barely time for him to duck and cover his head.

"John," Scott's cry sounded horrified, but was quickly drowned out by the whooshing noise of crashing metal and flame. The heat was engulfing him, a heavy weight on his back and chest; he was drowning in heat and couldn't breathe.

He…was surprised when something hit his head that had some definite force behind it but was light enough not to hurt.

"John," a female voice this time, her accent thick and distinctly Irish. "I know it's yer day off an all, but if ya don't get that AC fixed I'm gonna melt for sure, an' Lucy won't stop cryin' because she's too hot. Now, get outta bed an earn your keep."

Grey-blue eyes snapped open with a speed John didn't previously know they possessed. He wasn't in a burning building in Japan, but instead a small bedroom with faded green wallpaper and second-hand dresser. Not being crushed and burnt alive in a hallway, just in his pajamas tangled up in a queen sized bed with no frame and cheap cream sheets.

The object that had hit his head? A pillow, now lying beside him harmlessly.

And there, seated on the edge of the bed—John couldn't believe it. She was dressed in one of his old shirts that was too small across her chest, the torn collar revealing one peaches and cream freckled shoulder and an old faded hickey at the spot where shoulder met freckle-covered neck. Green eyes like summer-time leaves with a hint of amusement buried deep under exhaustion, and red hair that was frizzing from the damp heat that made the air of the small room heavy. His girl, just like he remembered her.

It wasn't possible. She was dead; he'd seen her burned corpse. She'd been dead for two years now, but here she was breathing, and beautiful, and whole. He couldn't stop gaping at her, blinking stupidly. This was the worst kind of déjà vu, he knew it couldn't be real, but he couldn't make himself want to doubt it either. She was here. She was whole. This was their room, in their house, in Florida, and if he reached out he knew he could touch her. His darling girl. His…"L-Linny?"


End file.
